Revenge of a Not-So-Pretty Girl (10 page)

“Thanks,” she says softly.

“That’s cool,” I say. “Okay, bye!” I try to make a mad dash, but her voice stops me.

“How did you get in here?”

“What?” I ask. I heard her. But I’m not as skilled as Caroline when it comes to lying, so I have to buy some time to come up with a good story.

“I asked how you got in here.”

“Oh. Well, this friend I go to school with lives in this building. I was waiting for her to come down so we could ride the bus together, and I was kinda bored. Well, you know, sometimes I play around with doorknobs. I always try them. It’s something weird I always do. But they never open. But then I tried yours and it opened, so … I mean, I wouldn’t have come in or nothing, but I saw you lying on the floor.” I stop talking and shake my head a little. The thing is, when you have to make up a lie on the spot, you can never tell whether it’s a good one or not—at least, I can’t. She just gazes at me for a while with her squinty, cloudy, Saran Wrap–covered green eyes. I mean, she’s really looking at me, and I’m getting very nervous. I start twisting my scarf around my neck like it’s a noose.

“So, how come you were on the floor?” I ask.

“Because some bad little girls pushed their way into my apartment so they could take my money.”

“Really?” I say. Only, I don’t know how convincing I sound. “That’s a terrible thing to do to somebody.”

“I’m glad you know that.”

“Okay. Um, when did this happen?”

“A couple of days ago, I believe.”

“Oh,” I say. Man, I thought old people didn’t remember anything. “Well, I have to go. Your telephone is right there. Maybe you can call somebody to come look after you. Your family …”

She makes this weird grunting sound and turns away a little.

“I don’t have any,” she says softly.

“Oh, okay. Then maybe your friends. Everyone has friends. Some people have lots. Me, I only have three, although two of them, I’ve been rethinking lately. Don’t even know if you’d consider them true friends. So I guess I really only have one definite friend and two possibles.” I realize I’m rambling, so I stop. “You do have friends, don’t you?”

“Most have passed on.”

“Well, that sucks,” I say. And then there’s the silence again.

“Maybe you could come back sometime,” the old lady finally says in hardly more than a whisper. “If you can find the time.”

“O-k-kay?” I stammer out, because I know full well there is no way in hell I’m ever coming back. “How about I get
your phone number. You know, in case I can’t quite, uh, get … down here.”

She looks at me for a while, and I do my best not to look away. They said on this TV show once that looking away from someone is a sure signal that you’re not being on the up-and-up.

“Top drawer of the night table, there’s a pen and paper.”

After I take down her number, I notice her still staring at me all weird.

“Well, okay, got your information. And there’s the phone right nearby, so when I call, you don’t have to move very far for it. Or, in case you think of a friend, maybe, who isn’t dead.” I stop myself when I realize how stupid I sound. “I mean, in case you think of somebody to call. Well, I really need to get a move on. My friend’s probably taken off without me.”

I don’t wait for her to say anything else. I just crumple up the piece of paper and stuff it into my pocket, then shoot out of the room and down the hall. I don’t even come to a full stop as I scoop up my schoolbag and flee that apartment.

Maybe God doesn’t
hate me after all. The old lady’s not dead, so there’s no possibility of me being brought up on criminal charges or facing eternal damnation—not for murder, at least. There’s probably a long list of other things I could be found guilty of. Anyway, now I can wash my hands clean of this incident. Personally, I think I went above and beyond what was necessary. I brought her food and drink, and talked to her a bit. And I looked at her naked body. Touched it, even. So if you ask me, I’ve more than done my penance. Disaster averted.

I settle in to wait for the bus for school in front of a large poster advertising Easter candies in the window of a half-price discount store. I try to keep my focus front and center on the cars passing by and the people dodging in and out of traffic to make it across the street, but eventually I give in to the urge to turn and look at my reflection. I slowly ease my knit cap back. One good thing dealing with the possibility of a murder does, it allows you to forget that you look
like a hairless cat. But with my mind now free and clear to concentrate on other things, I’m forced to deal with my suddenly changed appearance. There’s not even enough hair to cornrow, so I have to settle for a tiny Afro—and that style hasn’t been in since the end of the last decade.

I think about not going to school, but then I’d just have to deal with it on Monday, since Tuesday begins our Easter break. But then what do I do the following week, and the week after that? I can’t possibly avoid school each and every day until the end of the school year in June, although it’s a thought. I mean, it’s only two and a half months away, Or maybe I should just take it one week at a time. Survive through Monday; then I have nearly a week off to figure out some sort of camouflage for this thing on top of my head.

As the B41 pulls up, I look at my reflection again. I notice how big my ears look without any hair to offset them. Like satellites. Then I pull my knit cap so far down over my head my eyes are almost covered, too.

Three people get off, and the bus driver keeps the doors open for me, but I don’t advance any. He calls out to me and I just stare at him. Finally, I take a deep breath and move forward. Might as well get it over with.

*  *  *

“Faye, you weren’t in first period,” Keisha says as she eases over to my locker and stands directly in my line of vision. It’s all for the best. There’s only so much I can take of Charlene Simpson giggling and throwing her hair back and casting her spell over Curvy Miller.

“Got here right near the end, so it didn’t make any sense to go in,” I explain.

“What happened? Did you oversleep?” she asks as she walks around to the locker on the other side of me, freeing up my line of vision to Curvy and Charlene just as his right arm coils around her waist like a muscular chocolate-brown snake. I look at Charlene for a moment. She twists her body a bit and balances on one leg, and all I can see is this round little curve of a butt. It’s just not fair. Even in our shapeless gray uniform pants, she looks good. My slacks always look as if they’re fighting to stay up on my hips, and barely winning at that. And forget it when the weather warms up and we have to wear the pleated skirts. Honestly, unless I’m wearing my undershirt, you can’t really tell that any progress has been made in the mammary department. I can only hope that one day something will curve, swell up on me, or indent. To think I’m less than six years away from being twenty and still pretty much waiting for puberty to kick in—how terribly wrong is that?

My line of vision is interrupted again as Keisha crosses back over to the other side of me, and she follows my gaze.

“Like I told you before, Faye, if you really want to have some time with your boyfriend without Charlene around, you should start hanging out at my place after school. Even though they’re on different teams, Curvy and my brother have become really close playing baseball. And since he lives nearby, he’s always hanging out at our house when they don’t have practice or a game, talking about strikeouts and earned run averages … and girls, of course.”

“No, I’m good,” I say quickly. Truth be told, I wouldn’t know what to say to Curvy if I got the chance. It’s just that he has those dimples to die for, and those great arms, which I suppose he got from throwing that amazing curveball of his.

“So you’d rather stare at him from afar? Why not just speak to him?”

“I’ve spoken to him,” I say a little too defensively.

“ ‘Oops, sorry,’ ‘Your pen fell on the ground,’ and ‘Did they run out of orange juice?’ is not speaking to someone. I mean, it is, but it’s not a conversation. Besides, you could talk to him and find out he’s not all that.”

I just shrug.

“Anyway, you didn’t answer me,” Keisha continues. “Did you oversleep this morning?”

“Yeah, something like that.”

“You didn’t miss much of anything. It was all about East Germany again.”

The bell rings, indicating we have about two minutes to get to second period before we’re officially marked late. There’s a flurry of activity as metal locker doors slam shut and kids secure their books and move off to class. I stare at Curvy as he and Charlene head our way, but he doesn’t look in my direction. Not even when his knapsack nearly decapitates me. He just keeps laughing and smiling and succumbing to the spell of perfection.

“Faye, come on. We’re gonna be late. You know if Sister Margaret Theresa Patricia Bernadette shuts that door and we’re not at our desks, seated, well, that’s a whole can of worms I’d rather keep shut and sealed.”

“Okay,” I say hesitantly. I stuff my coat and scarf into my locker and close the door, all without taking my cap off.

“Why do you still have your hat on?” Keisha asks.

“My head’s cold?” I say. Only, not so convincingly.

“Well, you might be able to get away with it in some of your other classes, but that’s definitely not going to fly in religious studies.” Keisha lowers her voice all serious and steps closer to me. “That crazy old nun will yank it off with that crucifix that’s always dangling from her neck, if she has to.”

Truth is, my head is overheating and I can feel the perspiration getting trapped in the knit cap. I look over at Keisha’s hair, which is all neatly combed and pulled into a ponytail with a red bubble clip. I look around at the Puerto Rican and white girls still milling around in the hall—their hair all long and cascading over their shoulders. I want to keep my cap on for as long as possible, but I know it has to go, so I suck in some air and pull.

“Jesus, Faye. What did you do to your hair?” Keisha says as her eyes light up and grow bigger—almost to the hyperthyroid size of Caroline’s.

“I don’t know, Keisha. It looks really bad, huh?”

“Well, um. Not
really
bad, but … I think it’s a little uneven.”

“Tell the truth. I look like the long-lost daughter of Mr. T and Grace Jones, don’t I?”

“No. I wouldn’t say that. Anyway, short hair is in these days. Look at those models in
Jet
and
Ebony
. And what about Annie Lennox of the Eurythmics? You’re just being fashion forward.”

“Thanks for trying to make me feel better. Even though you’re lying. Anyway, I didn’t cut it. My mother did.”

“Why? Was she mad at you again?”

“She’s always mad at me. But Caroline stuck gum in it.”

“Why would somebody do that to somebody else?”

“It’s a long story.”

“I swear, Faye. I don’t know how you can say those girls are your friends.”

“I told you before, they really helped me out when some of those other kids in the neighborhood weren’t so nice, or welcoming.”

“Yeah, well, couldn’t you have just said thank you to them and moved on? I mean, what do you even talk to them about? What do you all do together?”

I just sigh. I wish I could really tell Keisha what caused the gum-in-hair incident. I wish I could tell her how I redeemed myself by checking on that old lady, how I had to help her get into some clean clothes, and how her old body looked and felt, but I can’t.

“I don’t want to talk about Caroline and Gillian,” I say as I stuff the hat into my locker.

“Well, don’t worry about your hair,” Keisha says. “It really doesn’t look that bad. And the good thing about hair is, it always grows back.”

It’s five-thirty
in the morning when I hear Mama’s bedroom door creak open. Her slippers drag across the carpet as she makes her way to the bathroom. The sun’s not really out yet, but it’s not as black as it was when I went to sleep. I can see a little gray peeping through the sides of the window shades. I can even make out my Duran Duran
Rio
and Michael Jackson “Rock with You” posters. My alarm won’t be going off until seven, but I’ve already been awake for a half hour or so, thinking about the decision I came to over the weekend. I will not be going to school. Not today. Not tomorrow, maybe not ever again.